


John's Personal and Private Blog

by Fable



Series: Sherlock [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Cucumber, Blogging, First Time, Light Bondage, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-07 06:38:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fable/pseuds/Fable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John blogged, he had to, it helped him to work out what the hell just happened!</p>
<p>I've added a chapter - well the story about the cucumber had to be told!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. John's Blog

John pushed a pile of papers off the office chair with some force; they flapped and settled here and there on the floor at his feet. He wrapped his army issue dressing gown around him tightly against the early morning chill and positioned, then re-positioned himself onto the chair. John interlaced his fingers and pushed outwards until they gave a satisfying crack. He let out a slow controlled breath.

He opened his laptop, cleared his throat and logged onto his very personal and very private blog. He poised his fingers over the keys and typed –

**I fucked him, I, John Hamish Watson fucked Sherlock Holmes.**

John’s head gave little involuntary movements at the words and he glanced down the corridor towards Sherlock’s bedroom.

**So for any possible future reference, this is how it happened –**

**Mycroft asked us to accompany him to some government bash, he didn’t feel the need to be any clearer than that, it was a charity fundraiser of some sort, held in a grand, seriously overstated mansion house just outside of London.**

**Sherlock was in an extremely bad mood before we even got in the taxi. Mycroft had told him he would withdraw ‘funding’ if he did not attend. So I had to sit next to the grump whinging and whining all the way to the event (coming back was a different story entirely).**

**_Good God_ ** **the evening was a trial to say the least, it was all long speeches and prize giving. Sherlock was bored and wasn’t afraid to show it. Sighing and tutting he started to make deductions about everyone in the over-elaborate ballroom, he started from the left hand side and worked his way around to the right (by the way he says left to right is the way you should always do everything!).**

‘John.’

John paused; his hands hovered over the keyboard.

‘JO-HN.’ Sherlock’s voice floated out of the bedroom door.

‘ _What_ Sherlock?’

‘Tea.’

‘Get it yourself.’

‘Please.’

‘No.’

‘PLE-ASE.’

‘NO.’

‘…and a cigarette.’

‘You don’t smoke.’

‘ _PLE-ASE_ John.’

Exasperated John pushed his hands firmly onto the desktop and stood up; the sudden undertaking propelled the wheeled office chair across the floor until it hit the sofa.

‘John.’ The disembodied voice found its way into the kitchen at the same time as John flicked the switch on the kettle.

‘What?’

‘We’re going to have to talk about last night…’

‘Not now.’

‘Yes now.’

‘Sherlock…’

‘Yes John.’

‘Not now.’

As John, balancing tea with one hand, opened Sherlock’s door it flooded light from the hall into the otherwise dimly lit room. John hadn’t noticed when he’d stole out of Sherlock’s bed earlier what complete chaos the room was in, coats, clothing and bed covers lay abandoned where they fell. Sherlock’s scarf was knotted onto the hook behind the door; John gave it a second and third glance. All testaments to the reckless hunger that had taken place just, John looked at his watch and scowled, five hours earlier. He eyed with some misgiving an empty bottle of oil that was for some unknown reason upended next to a cucumber. John shook his head, that particular memory was not surfacing at the moment and for that he was grateful.

Sherlock was laying spread eagled on his front in the middle of the bed, his mop of dark hair more unruly than usual, and his pale narrow form almost disappearing against the thin white bed sheet that was only just covering his arse. John squeezed his eyes shut, there was absolutely no denying the fact that the man looked like he’d been fucked within an inch of his life, and he, John Hamish Watson had done the fucking.

‘Tea.’ He swiped various objects, including a sheep’s eyeball, off the bedside table and balanced the cup on a book; the optimistic title read The Mating Habits of Wild Asian Sheep.

Sherlock opened one bleary eye ‘and a cigarette?’

‘You don’t smoke.’

Sherlock grunted and rolled over onto his back, now the thin white sheet only just covered from his hips down, leaving a provocative glimpse of dark curls. He raised his upper body up onto his elbows and studied John closely.

‘Come to bed.’

‘No.’

‘Why.’

‘I’m… not actually gay.’

‘Didn’t bother you last night’ Sherlock gave a sly smile as the memories obviously danced in his head ‘come to bed.’

‘Sherlock.’

The thin white sheet around Sherlock’s hips rose slightly of its own accord.

‘Come to bed.’

‘There’s your tea and no cigarette, I’ll be in the living room.’ John made a hasty exit tripping over Sherlock’s overcoat in the retreat, he desperately needed to work out what had happened and if it was a) acceptable, gay or not or b) a terrible mistake, never to be repeated and c) whether he’d ever forgive Sherlock for putting him in that position last night. At this moment in time he was genuinely confused.

He picked up his own tea, the warm liquid washed down his throat as he poised one hand over the keyboard again…

**So he started with a woman on the far left, according to Sherlock she was younger than she looked, an alcoholic and was into tantric sex. I have long ago stopped asking how he knows these things. The man on her right used to, apparently, be a woman, he had two dogs and a much younger lover. I’d whispered at him to stop but it only served to fuel the fire. He did however get bored by the tenth man who was sleeping with his secretary and he stopped. That’s when things started to escalate…**

**Sherlock sat like a scolded schoolchild for a short while; but I could practically hear the gears and mechanisms whirring in his head. Then he slipped out his hand and placed it on my knee, it was hardly touching, but it was there. I’d hissed at him under my breath ‘what the hell did he think he was doing?’ as I took his hand and placed it with one definite movement onto his own knee.**

**‘Experimenting John’ he’d replied casually. ‘Don’t experiment on my knee’ I’d told him in no uncertain terms. He’d smiled and placed his hand back, firmer this time onto my knee. Letting out a long exasperated lungful I’d decided that it was going to be easier to let Sherlock keep his hand there than battling with him for the rest of the evening, so I’d let him do his puerile experiment. Mistake?**

**He then proceeded to run his fingers slowly up my inner thigh. I’d firmly grasped the offending hand and placed it back where it belonged – with him. I’d hissed something along the lines of ‘stop it or I’ll punch your lights out.’**

**Then, get this, he leaned over…**

‘John, JO-HN.’

‘Sherlock, what the _hell_ do you want now?’

‘Your phone.’

‘Why my phone?’

‘I can’t reach my phone.’

John grimaced, it really wasn’t worth arguing, slinging the chair away with one hand and he picked up his mobile with the other and marched into the downstairs bedroom, stretching out his arm he thrust the device at Sherlock.

Sherlock was still sprawled out in the centre of the bed, he ignored the phone.

‘Come to bed.’

‘No… Good God Sherlock you can be _so_ irritating.’

‘Fuck me.’

‘No.’

‘Please.’

‘Erm… Actually… No.’

‘You will… eventually, when you’ve got over whatever is going on in that stupid head of yours.’

‘Yeah, thanks Sherlock.’ John turned on his heels to resume his tapping on the keyboard; he was finding writing his blog therapeutic.

**…and placed his cheek against mine and whispered in my ear ‘sleep with me tonight.’ I’d opened my mouth to complain bitterly at the sheer annoyance of his experiment, the unsuitability of the setting and his choice of words when something funny happened to me, not a Ha Ha funny, something stirred in the pit of my stomach, a low fuzzy feeling.**

**Looking back I think it was because he was so close, closer than he’s ever been before, I could feel his hot breath on my cheek, feel his hair brushing against my forehead, hear his shallow irregular breaths and I could smell him, he smelt so… damm good.**

**My reaction to the unannounced feelings was to stand abruptly, in doing so I sent an full glass of wine, a fork and two napkin rings flying across the table, my sudden movement and the cascading wine causing a great deal of commotion as the room was full of quiet people listening politely to some politician or another spouting about how he was going to feed the poor.**

**I’d mouthed to Sherlock ‘stop it or I _will_ kill you’ and moved away from him, I sat on a spare chair at the other side of the round table throwing fierce looks in his direction. He in return smiled slyly and winked.**

**Sh-**

‘What are you writing?’ Sherlock’s voice from behind him pulled John from his musings. He slammed the lid of his laptop shut and swivelled around. Sherlock was naked.

‘Sherlock, for God’s sake put some clothes on.’

‘You’re writing your blog, your personal and private blog aren’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is it the blog that has the password 42?’

‘How the _hell_ … oh never mind.’

‘You know it’s the answer to life the universe and everything.’

‘-according to Google.’

‘But - you added together your shoe size and waist size.’

‘Sherlock.’

‘Yes.’

‘Piss off.’

‘Come back to bed.’

‘No.’

‘You will… I’ll wait.’ With that Sherlock picked up an apple tossed it in the air and caught it in his mouth, grinning wickedly at John from behind the fruit he walked off. John watched him go and found he could not avert his gaze from Sherlock’s tempting arse that was disappearing down the corridor. John screwed his eyes shut and mentally chastised himself. He wasn’t gay, he wasn’t gay, he was sure he wasn’t, so why the _hell_ did he get a little tingly sensation in the pit of his stomach from watching Sherlock’s cute backside.

‘Don’t be long.’ Sherlock’s voice filtered into his thoughts.

John lifted the lid on his laptop –

**-erlock spent the best part of the next hour seductively winking at me across the table – _for God’s sake_ – I spent the rest of the evening mouthing ‘stop it’ or ‘I _am_ going to kill you’ in his general direction.**

**But – the thing was I couldn’t ignore the fact that something had stirred in me when Sherlock had whispered in my ear, and those unexpected feelings combined with his extremely annoying behaviour was seriously pissing me off.**

**So – to cut a long story short – I’d ended up standing up and mouthing over the table at Sherlock ‘outside’ he in turn grinned back at me, his face telling me he had the result he’d wanted. To leave.**

**In the corridor Sherlock was still grinning like a bloody Cheshire cat. ‘Stop your stupid experimenting on me Sherlock, for all that’s holy, just because you’re bored’ I’d shouted at him, well I’d said in a loud angry whisper and if I remember I was clenching my fists ready to swing for him.**

**‘I want sex John, with you.’ He’d said in all seriousness.**

**This sudden revelation had stopped me in my tracks and thrown me off guard, which is what I’m pretty sure, he was aiming for. So I’d ended up saying ‘Sherlock, have you ever had sex with anyone or _anything_?’**

**‘No’ came the reply to which I’d retorted ‘I’m not gay.’**

**Sherlock studied me closely (I hate it when he does that) ‘I am not gay, straight or bi, I am just me and I want to have sex with you.’**

John paused his hands over the keyboard, did he need to continue, it was clear from the opening line of his blog that at the end of last night they’d ended up fucking and even though it emotionally screwed John up inside, he had to admit it to himself that it was the best sex he’d ever had. Sherlock was a very fast learner and he’d clearly found a new skill. Something stirred deep down in John as he sifted and processed the memories, and he even found a little smile cracking his lips…

‘Finish it.’

‘Sherlock-’

‘That’s what you’re thinking, finish it and come to bed; I am _so_ ready to fuck you again.’

John twisted round and his heart did an involuntary leap - _good God_ Sherlock looked good, pale almost translucent skin covered in an appealing layer of goose bumps and seriously wonderful bed head hair. He had the thin white sheet wrapped around him but arranged in such a way that it fell exposing his fine collarbones which John noticed for the first time had a neat row of little bites on them that were just beginning to welt. He had done that – John Hamish Watson had done that, he’d marked the great Sherlock Holmes.

John covered his face with his hands, groaned and shifted uncomfortably on his chair.

‘Come to bed John.’

John could see in Sherlock’s expression that he knew it wouldn’t be long before John caved. He twisted back towards his laptop -

**I’d swung for him – but he’d expertly caught my arm, forced it awkwardly up my back and using all his body weight had slammed me face first into the wall. _Note: heavy flocked wallpaper irritates the skin when it’s pushed into it for some time._**

**Then he’d leant on me heavily, brushed his lips on the back of my neck ever so gently and then planted kisses on my earlobe. I’d heard his breathing becoming laboured as his awareness and excitement had grown.**

**I couldn’t breathe; the weight of him had expelled all the air from my lungs but -- I’d naturally and without giving it any thought groaned and quivered under his touch.**

**‘Good John, that’s good’ he’d murmured in my ear.**

**‘Sherlock- I – _Oh God…_ ’ At that point with my arm still in a half nelson he’d kicked my legs apart and ground his hips into mine. We were in a hallway of a grand stately home at a government bash and Sherlock Holmes was rutting me up against a wall…**

**Sherlock buried his face into my neck and very gently placed little bites over and over. _My God_ I didn’t know biting could be so sensual. I could feel his excitement and - I could feel mine --**

**‘Oh God, Oh God - Sherlock – I.’ My legs turned to jelly, you know I never believed that phrase before but it’s actually true, my legs apparently no longer contained bones and did not want to support my weight anymore.**

**Someone coughed from behind us – ‘Time and a place boys, time and a place.’**

**‘Mycroft-’ Sherlock released me and I slumped against the wall. ‘My dear brother, you're right of course, the time is now, the place is 221B. Lend us your chauffeur.’**

**Mycroft shut one eye, squinted through the other, tipped his head and considered us for a long moment. Too long, Sherlock had begun to impatiently hop from one foot to another. ‘About time’ Mycroft eventually said after he’d given us a cursory nod -**

‘Skip the ride home – _boring_. Get to the screwing part.’

‘SHER-LOCK - _stop_ creeping up on me.’

‘In fact you could skip that part as well and we could just recreate it right now.’

‘Sherlock.’

‘Finish it and come to bed.’

‘You are so repetitive.’

‘- and you didn’t argue.’

**I’m not going to analyse this, it just happened –**

**A wave of hunger washed over me as we crashed through the door of 221B, the door swung violently on its hinges and Sherlock kicked it shut. We didn’t make it up the stairs before Sherlock’s searching mouth was on mine. No warning.**

**He’d pressed me up against the wall and leaned in to capture my bottom lip in-between his and he pulled gently.**

**I’d thought I’d feel awkward and embarrassed – I didn’t. I felt, actually, as horny as hell.**

**Sherlock traced his warm tongue along my lips just for a second then pushed them apart and forced it deep inside, searching and probing. Ignoring every sane thought screaming at me I reciprocated fully simultaneously running my fingers under his overcoat looking for the hem of his shirt  I pulled it up slightly and ran my hand into the small of his back and pulled him closer. Sherlock actually shuddered under my touch and with his lips still on mine he’d let out a soft moan and the air that was in his lungs transferred deep into mine. _Good God_ I wanted him.**

‘So you should, I’m quite a catch. Come to bed.’

‘GO AWAY.’

‘Come to bed.’

A heartbeat - ‘Yes.’

**We were now pressed so close I could feel his heart beating wildly in his chest and I’m sure he could feel mine doing exactly the same.**

**How we arrived in Sherlock’s bedroom, I have no recollection, but I do remember his face - his eyes were wide open and his pupils were blown. His cheeks were flushed and his soft wet mouth was parted slightly, he did in fact have lust written all over him.**

**I’d unravelled his scarf and shrugged off his overcoat, they stayed where they landed, unbuttoned his suit jacket, slid it off and it also stayed where it fell. I’d lifted the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. As I’d run my hands over his pale tight torso the strokes made us both shudder.**

**Sherlock in turn rather impatiently stripped my coat and jumper off within ten seconds hurling them across the room. My shirt was another matter entirely, he’d pulled and ripped every button off, and they’d bounced, making little tinkling noises all over the floor. He said he’d always wanted to do that (to me? I don’t know, that wasn’t clear). _Note: Sherlock you owe me a new shirt._**

**Sherlock leaned in and kissed the soft part under my jawline, murmuring words that were not distinguishable, it made me weak and I’d tilted my head back to give him further access which in turn made him purr, a noise I have never heard from Sherlock’s lips, it vibrated deliciously through my skin.**

**‘You know I bite, don’t you’ he’d hummed into my neck.**

**‘Good, Oh yes that’s good’ my voice was a mere whimper and I’d suddenly lost all direction not sure what was up and what was down only aware of this wonderful dark and sometimes dangerous man with his hands wandering on my torso and his teeth taking nips out of my collarbone.**

**There was always something just below the surface with Sherlock, something wild and untamed nobody knew the real Sherlock, he didn’t let them in, but he was letting me in tonight and more, and at that moment in time that thought was driving me insa-.**

John suddenly halted mid word, he heard Sherlock before he saw him, and he felt his breath on his neck and his cold hands running down inside his dressing gown. An involuntary moan escaped his lips.

‘Now John, now.’

‘Sh- Sherlock patience is a virtue.’

‘Sod patience, sod virtues, now.’

‘Desperate are we?’

‘No -‘ Sherlock sulked.

‘I said yes didn’t I.’ John gave him a genuine warm smile.

**-ne.**

**Sherlock bent and picked up his scarf, he ran the knitted material through his fingers a few times, pulled it taught so it made a snapping noise and then he’d given me a seriously wicked look.**

**‘Trust me John?’ he’d leaned in and murmured in my ear.**

**‘Completely’ I’d croaked through a seriously parched mouth.**

**Before I knew what was happening he had my wrists tied with one end of the scarf and the other end he tied to the dressing gown hook on the back of his bedroom door. I was standing with my arms above my head practically on tip toe and my back to the door. My heart was battling against my chest wall, my legs were absent and my vision temporarily blurred. What the _hell_ was he going to do?**

**With sinful eyes Sherlock undid and discarded the rest of my clothing. I was now butt naked, tied to a door, seriously aroused and utterly compliant.  The atmosphere in the room was so effervescent it could be practically felt on the skin as Sherlock dropped to his knees –**

**What Sherlock did next had me crying out and heaving desperately against my restraints. My body bucked as he drew me into his mouth, his hot, wet mouth _. Note to self: I must ask Sherlock where the hell he learnt_** **_Fellatio_ ** **. He started slowly and then increased the rhythm; he flicked his tongue creatively and started to hum Bach (!) The vibrations sent shivers of pure bliss up my spine. He glanced up and held my gaze for only a second but it was enough - the world stopped turning…**

**‘Sher-lock… Oh God, I’m going to…’**

**He stood abruptly, planted a hard kiss and murmured into my mouth. ‘Do you want me? All of me?’**

**I instantly knew what he meant; my addled brain fought with the question for what seemed like an eternity but it was probably only a few seconds. I found my mouth opened of its own accord and the word ‘yes’ breathlessly came out.**

**Sherlock whispered ‘Good, yes very good.’**

**I’d lost all rational thought.**

**He spun me around and I lost all sight apart from the close proximity of the white wooden door, the grain of that wood will be forever implanted in my memory. I could still hear and smell though. I could hear rustling and I could smell the oil, to me it smelled like baby oil but I wasn’t going to dwell on it, it was irrelevant, what was relevant was the cold slick sensation and -- he was in me, his hands firmly on my hips, moving very slowly and mewling softly with every thrust. Every nerve in my body was on fire, every sensation was heightened** **, I was effectively blind and tied and all I knew, all that was tangible was Sherlock Holmes gradually building up the ride.**

**I cried out with desire and I cried out with some pain.**

**‘SHERLOCK… No, I’m….’**

**He reached around for me and increased the pace between hand and hips. I could feel his breath panting on the side of my neck. I couldn’t hold out…**

**And then my mind was blown as I cried out pitifully and juddered into him and within seconds he quivered and whimpered into me. He rested on my back, his chest heaving. We were both slick with sweat as he untied me and we dropped spent and used onto the floor.**

**There was an unknown passage of time before we crawled off the floor and into the bed.**

**‘Want to fuck me?’ Sherlock looked at me in a matter of fact kind of way.**

**‘Oh hell yes…’**

**So I fucked him, I John Hamish Watson fucked Sherlock Holmes.**

John dropped the lid of his laptop stood up and shrugged off his dressing gown in one positive movement. He walked naked into Sherlock’s bedroom and slipped under the thin white sheet.

Sherlock was pretending to doze.

‘Sherlock?’

‘Ah, John, thought you’d come round.’

‘Two questions –‘

‘Um.’

‘One - if you’ve never had sex before, how come you know so much?’

‘Books.’

‘Not the Mating Habits of the Wild Asian Sheep I hope…’ John’s laugh was silenced by Sherlock’s mouth on his.

John surfaced for air. ‘Two - Erm, the cucumber…?’

***

** Comment left 2.4.13 11.10pm **

I’m looking good John. Thank you *smiley face*

** Comment left 2.4.13 11.23pm **

Sherlock, this is my private blog! I changed the password, how the hell?

** Comment left 2.4.13 11.44pm **

Easy. The password is now Hitchhikers.

** Comment left 2.4.13 11.46pm **

Sherlock! You can be so fucking irritating.

** Comment left 2.4.13 11.52pm **

Come to bed *winks*

 


	2. The Cucumber

‘Evidence John… evidence.’

‘What on _earth_ do you mean, evidence?’ John rolled out of Sherlock’s bed; he winced as his bare feet struck the cold floor. He had absolutely no idea what the actual time was but according to his stomach it was time to eat.

‘Well - it started off as evidence.’ Sherlock shifted his weight in the bed and pulled the sheets up against the distinct chill.

‘And became –’ John stood butt naked and with narrowed eyes he considered the offending vegetable lying amongst the debris on Sherlock’s bedroom floor.

‘- a sex toy?’ he concluded.

‘Ah – you remember.’

‘Unfortunately.’

‘Did you know that you can also put cucumbers in your bath water to rejuvenate the skin?’ Sherlock could be a total genius one minute and so completely random the other.

John ignored him ‘-we did, didn’t we…?’ he ventured a glance towards the bed.

‘It’s all on my website.’ Sherlock looked pleased with himself.

‘WHAT? – your website, please _please_ tell me you didn’t.’

‘I updated it earlier while you were _blogging_. You’ll have to have a look won’t you?’

‘You utterly annoying bastard.’

Sherlock grinned roguishly at John ‘I am aren’t I?’

John grabbed Sherlock’s dressing gown, wrapped it around his body and headed for the door.

‘Don’t be long; I’m developing a taste for - _you_.’

‘SHER-LOCK!’

John was still muttering to himself as he struggled to get the dressing gown to meet in the middle, Sherlock was a much slighter man than he was. The gown was also annoyingly too long.

‘John –.’

‘Mrs Hudson --.’ John halted mid step and flushed crimson with embarrassment. A whole drift of thoughts swarmed into his head.

_Does she know its Sherlock’s dressing gown?_

_Can I make out that I’ve borrowed it after a shower? Mine was where exactly??_

_Do I look like I’m walking from Sherlock’s bedroom? Can I make it look like I’m just casually wandering around the flat?_

_Is it obvious I’ve fucked him?_

John shook the thoughts from his head and smiled half-heartedly at Mrs Hudson.

‘John, is that Sherlock’s dressing gown?’

‘Erm’ John pursed his lips together and crinkled his forehead. _Rock and hard place is where you are, rock and a hard place,_ a rogue thought jumped into his head.

‘Yes it is Mrs Hudson.’ Sherlock’s voice floated out of the bedroom door and then hung in front of John and the landlady provocatively. John screwed his eyes shut then opened them slowly, first one then the other, hoping Mrs Hudson may have vanished when both eyes were fully open. Nope. John gave her a watery smile and turned to hurry into the kitchen.

Mrs Hudson followed on ‘John dear, am I interrupting anything?’

‘NO… _no_ of course not.’ John flustered.

‘YES… _yes_ you are Mrs Hudson; John is making sandwiches and coming back to bed. Aren’t you John?’ Sherlock’s disembodied voice hovered in the air above the kettle.

‘Sher-lock’ John hissed under his breath in the general direction of the downstairs bedroom.

‘Oh… oh right, well then I’ll leave you two boys to it.’ Mrs Hudson scuttled out but not before she’d winked at John.

John sighed and wandered into the living room. He lifted the lid of his laptop and opened Sherlock’s website. A new heading read…

** The Case of the Marchand de Légumes **

** Background: ** **The Merchant of Vegetables is in itself a BORING run of the mill drug smuggling case.  The Merchant deposited the drug into the soft centre of the cucumbers that he was shipping over from France. What did make it slightly interesting though was this particular narcotic in this particular vegetable was undetectable to the sniffer dogs.**

** Summary: ** **Basic deduction on my part. Of all the fruit and vegetables that were been transported the cucumbers were slightly better packaged. Meaning they were more precious than the avocados for example.**

**I handpicked one for evidence.**

** CASE CLOSED.  **

** Update: ** **As these things happen – this particular long, firm and perfectly shaped cucumber is an excellent *** ***.  Isn’t it John?**

**Click HERE for more information.**

John knew he was going to regret it but he clicked the HERE word anyway.

**Password _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _**

John poised his fingers and thought but for only a few seconds. Sherlock wasn’t the only smart arse around. He typed  D O N ‘ T P A N I C  and he was in.

**John you clever boy…**

John winced.

**…I knew you’d get the reference. So you’ve got this far and you want to know what we did with the cucumber, you remember we used it but not all the details. Well as you’ve probably gathered by now its original use describes your slight memory loss, narcotic seeping through the skin into your system but don’t panic as the _Guidebook_ instructs.**

**If you want to complete the picture - It’s my turn**

John slowly dropped the lid of the laptop and put his head in his hands. In the last twenty-four hours he had been to Mycroft’s government bash and Sherlock had seduced him in the corridor. Had the best sex he’s ever had with Sherlock of all people. He’d embarrassed himself in front of Mrs Hudson and then just found out he’d been slightly drugged by a cucumber used in a sexual act.

Joan groaned loudly and still with his hands on his face he shook his head. He hoped that the memories would vibrate out of his ears, drop onto the floorboards and disappear down through the cracks.

‘John.’

John swivelled round to face the voice. Sherlock stood tall behind him with his black overcoat wrapped around his obviously still naked body. John looked questionably at his choice of wear.

‘You have my dressing gown.’ Sherlock answered without John saying a word.

John pushed himself up from the desk and faced Sherlock.

‘My turn’ Sherlock held up the now familiar green vegetable in one hand and a half empty bottle of oil in the other. He leaned in and without taking his eyes off him he took John’s lips in his. Sherlock always kissed with his eyes open.

‘You total low-life’ John managed to breath into Sherlock’s encompassing mouth.

‘You love it’ Sherlock breathed back as he undid the cord of his dressing gown and shrugged it off John’s shoulders.

John slipped his hands inside the overcoat, just the very thought of it giving him an unexpected tingle of delight, and ran his hands over Sherlock’s tight torso.

Sherlock let out a long low growl under John’s touch. ‘Bedroom – NOW’ he demanded. John obeyed.

***

Mrs Hudson’s ceiling light swung rhythmically in time with the thumping that could be heard from the room upstairs. She sat at her little kitchen table with a sour look on her face and tried to concentrate on sipping her tea. She had to admit it was getting harder to do as the faint moans from above her got increasing louder and the pounding got faster.

Mrs Hudson stuck her fingers in her ears and hummed a little tune. But even through her finger defenders and the theme tune to Coronation Street she still heard Sherlock cry out John’s name and then - silence.

The ceiling light finished its final few swings and settled back into place.

Mrs Hudson stood up with her face flushed up to her ears. She smoothed down her skirt and went to make herself a stiff drink and maybe a cigarette…

 

 


End file.
